


long forgotten star

by simplycarryon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, happy fluff babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplycarryon/pseuds/simplycarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel asks to see your soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long forgotten star

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from/inspired by [this poem](http://sunrisesongs.tumblr.com/post/130771798682/the-hunger-in-me-knows-the-burning-in-you-i), which. makes me cry. but what doesn't.
> 
> feral asked for charasriel & I am always happy to deliver.

You’ve grown accustomed to the way Asriel asks for things: bounding, expectant, naïve, endlessly confident. He asks as if the word ‘no’ never even occurs as a possible answer, let alone a definite one, and—maybe it’s the princely upbringing, or the fact that his parents love him with all of their hearts, but you’re hard-pressed to find instances of ‘no’ in either case.

He doesn’t ask for bad or dangerous things. Foolish ones, maybe, like that time he asked Asgore to play-throw him _really really high, high enough to touch the top of the barrier,_ and you laughed at him for getting teary-eyed when Asgore told him that might not be the best idea. But not bad, and not dangerous. He doesn’t ask for things that could really hurt him, or you. The most potentially harmful thing you’ve heard him ask for is a third slice of pie.

So when he asks to see your soul, you look at him like he’s just scattered a bag of marbles down the stairs—a little bit of shock, a lot of surprise, and just a tiny sliver of _what the fuck, Asriel._ But you don’t say that, not out loud anyway, because he’s not bounding. He’s not confident. He looks at your feet instead of your eyes, and he clasps his hands together, squishing his own paw pads between hesitant fingers in a gesture that you think might be nerves.

He’s afraid, you realize, after a moment of staring.

Not of you, but of you saying no.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because,” he begins, looking up shyly, “I’ve never seen a human soul before. Dad says they’re strong and bright and beautiful, like shards of colored light.”

You’d like to tell him that you don’t think your soul is any of those things. You think your soul is empty and hard and brittle all at once, earth and clay and hollow stone, and you think of his earnest expression giving way to disappointment and disinterest in you and your ugliness, and a preemptive hurt wells up hot in your chest.

But.

Asriel doesn’t ask for things that could really hurt you. 

You want to cling to that idea, to trust that he of all people will never cause you harm. Asriel is safe, and warm, and you don’t want to lose that, you never want to lose that. Maybe he’ll see some beauty in your emptiness, some use for the misshapen clay lump that is your soul.

Hope hurts. Despair hurts. You’re not sure which one’s worse.

The decision clamps around you like a vise, crushing in its weight and terrifying in its possibility, and you—

You place all your trust in Asriel, in one brief and brilliant moment, and nod.

“How do I do it?” you ask, the words heavy in your throat.

The gesture he shows you is simple enough. You cup your hands to your heart and pull them away, slowly, squeezing your eyes shut against his reaction, not wanting to see the way his face inevitably falls at your disappointing existence.

Red light presses gentle against your eyelids.

You crack one eye open just a tiny bit, and then you open both of your eyes and you stare, and suddenly you’re fighting back tears because _your soul is breathtaking,_ and it shines a quiet-vivid red that illuminates your cupped hands and glows softly in the stillness of your darkened room.

Asriel looks at you like you are the entire world.

He reaches—slowly, carefully, hesitantly—for your hands, and you extend them willingly, holding your breath even as you want to sob at the fondness in his eyes, at the light in your soul, at everything all at once. You think he notices it, too, and his paws are gentle as he takes your soul into his possession for just a moment. 

You think you would give it to him forever, if you could—just to see the look of awe and adoration in his eyes for a little longer, to feel as close to him as you do now.

He holds you there, in his hands, for a moment that feels like an eternity.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like anything louder would break you, and you think maybe it would. 

“Thank you, Chara. For trusting me.”

You nod, not sure you could speak around the lump in your throat even if you had the words to say. It’s strange, sitting like this, feeling your body in one place and your soul in another, feeling the tiny sparks of his touch against the blood-red heart that is you and has somehow always been you.

He touches his nose to your soul, a kiss in his own soft way, and then he passes it back to you, depositing it gently in your cupped hands. You can still feel the heat of the gesture, and you think maybe it’s imprinted on your existence now, but you follow his instructions and you press the red starlight back into your chest until its glow fades into you.

Neither of you says anything, and neither of you really has to. Asriel shifts so he’s sitting next to you, his arm brushing your sleeve, a quiet request for permission to continue being close. You give it, mostly by not pulling away, and he rests his head on your shoulder with a tiny sigh.

You breathe, finally.

Your hands feel strangely empty, now that you’re not holding your soul between them, and to fill the lonely vastness you seek out his hand with yours and you weave your fingers together with his. He lets you squish his paw pads a little without protest, and you smile at that. You feel like you could smile at a lot of things, right now. 

You don’t know if you trust this lightness yet, this feeling of being—free?—but it’s nice, you think, with just the two of you. 

You, and Asriel, here in the quiet. Together.


End file.
